


AU Drabbles

by caesiumlight



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - RPG, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesiumlight/pseuds/caesiumlight
Summary: A collection of drabbles set in various alternate universes. Pairings vary per chapter.





	1. Demon's Healer, Chanyeol/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RPG AU.

Yixing raises his staff. It glows a pale green, and Chanyeol’s gaping wound closes sluggishly. Some of the pain dulls. 

“What were you hit with?” 

“Lightning,” Chanyeol clarifies, wincing as his flesh works to reknit itself. 

Yixing frowns, a worried furrow appearing on his forehead. “Two more inches to the left and it would have stopped your heart. Chanyeol-ah, please—”

“I know, be more careful.” He heaves himself up when Yixing’s done, ignoring the throbbing in his chest. Around them, the battle rages. They’re outnumbered. They don’t have time to rest. Baekhyun’s cast a weak barrier around them, giving Yixing time to heal him, but it’s starting to flicker. 

“Baekhyun’s surrounded,” Chanyeol realizes. It’s why the barrier’s collapsing; it’s taking too much out of the mage to keep it up while holding off the enemy. In the distance, Chanyeol picks out the glint of Sehun’s lance. The paladin’s valiantly fighting his way to Baekhyun, but he won’t make it on time. “We have to help, now.”

Yixing nods, face set. Chanyeol realizes what he’s about to do, and respectfully steps back. The blessed staff in Yixing’s hand slowly transforms, curves into a wicked scythe. The aura around Yixing morphs from that of a medic to an assassin, from gentle to deadly. 

Yixing tilts head slightly, considering him, and Chanyeol barely suppresses a shudder. He’ll never get used to the incongruousness of Yixing’s two forms. The tribes of the land call him Demon’s Healer, and he lives up to both names. Before him stands nothing of the friend he knows; just a weapon, perfectly honed, and hungry for blood. 

Chanyeol will never admit it, because he knows how much they rely on Yixing’s skills on the field, but he loathes it when Yixing makes the switch. He lets himself watch heavily for a moment as Yixing takes off, hurtling towards the first foe he sees, and slicing through him without flinching. Yixing is matchless with his blade, beautiful in the destruction he delivers, but it makes Chanyeol’s gut roil. And then he turns away from the scene, taking a deep breath to clear his mind. He is a warrior, nothing less. Sacrifices are a must if they are to survive. 

There is a time and place for grief, and the battlefield has no room for such sentiment.

(But afterward, when their enemies’ shields lay splintered and they’re safe from harm, Chanyeol will wrap his arms around Yixing. Afterward, when the bloodlust fades from Yixing’s eyes, Chanyeol will call for him to return.

“Come back,” he will plead. “Come back to me.”

Each time, as Yixing adds kill after kill to his ledger, as the frenzy and madness of war fill his mind, it becomes harder for Chanyeol to reach him. Yixing will remain stiff and unyielding, struggling internally with the growing desire for violence. And Chanyeol knows, with a sinking certainty, that the day will come when Yixing forfeits his calling as healer. 

But not this time. This time, Yixing will hear his voice. This time, Yixing will melt in his embrace, relief and regret lining his entire frame. And as the scythe in his hand reverts back to a staff, Yixing will whisper, “Thank you. For bringing me back.”)


	2. A Fool's Arrangement, Kai/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels and Demons AU.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Yixing says, taking the list from him. He scans it perfunctorily, but frowns when he realizes it’s a thousand or so names longer than the previous one. “I see you’ve been busy.”

He shrugs. “I was bored.” Doesn’t mention that he’s been working twice as hard to corrupt and trick and slander, just to get the angel to come down. 

They have an Arrangement, Yixing and he. A balance should be kept, so when the naughty or nice list gets too one-sided, they move some of the names over. Yixing’s always the one doing the visiting, because, well, alarm bells start ringing whenever Jongin comes within a ten-mile radius of the pearly gates. The angel’s shrouded himself in some sort of soft light which shields him from hell’s fire. It hurts his eyes. 

Yixing’s always been a little too bright. 

“Convert this guy,” he points to the list, “this one too. And this one.” Yixing starts circling names. “They’ll be easy, didn’t mean to do shit. I just took advantage of their situations. This one as well.”

On occasion, it’s the nice list which overflows, and Yixing has to reluctantly offer some souls to him. He knows he should be happy, those times, but seeing Yixing’s pinched, crestfallen face when he says, _this person, penchant for gambling_ , doesn’t give him any satisfaction. 

Eventually, they get to the end of the list. Yixing's looking at him expectantly. Jongin shrugs. “We’re done here then.”

“Jongin,” Yixing says softly. 

“My name is Kai.” 

“You’re Jongin to me.”

“And you’re a fool.” 

Jongin keeps count. It’s the nine-hundred and eighty-seventh time they’ve had this conversation. And if the end of the world doesn’t happen, they’ll continue to have this conversation until eternity, because Yixing is kind, and earnest, and believes in the good of all those he meets, including a demon. 

“Come back with me,” Yixing pleads. “You can still—I can put in a good word for you, you can—”

“Leave it, Yixing,” but instead of curt it comes out fond. “You know I’m beyond rescue.”

Yixing’s shoulders slump, and he looks so defeated and sorrowful that the instinct to comfort overwhelms him. Jongin reaches forward and presses a kiss to his lips. 

It should be earth-shattering, really, because lord knows demons aren’t fit to touch the pure, precious angels, but all Jongin feels is a tingle on his lips, where Yixing’s white cloak burns him, and an awful wrenching in the empty space of his chest. Yixing kisses back though, like a starving man presented with sustenance, and Jongin doesn’t know if that makes it worse. 

Nameless emotions swirl unsettlingly within him; there isn’t enough space in hell for the things the angel makes him feel, so it spills out from his throat as a rough, “You should leave.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t be stupid. They’ll be looking for you. And then there’ll be hell to pay.”

Yixing sighs, relents, and kisses him once more on his forehead, the most perverse of benedictions. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

Jongin manages to scoff, roll his eyes, and look insulted all at the same time. 

Yixing gives him a wry smile. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Soon. I’ll get those souls back.”

“Until then,” and the angel leaves hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Originally written for thekpop100 palette challenge: Hell + Reunion.


	3. Snake Tongue, Sehun/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts AU.

“You got placed in the wrong house,” Sehun insists, as he watches Vivi bypass his own hand, and wrap himself happily around Yixing’s wrist. “My snake likes you too much.”

“Does he?” Yixing sounds pleased. “Well, I like him too. Can you tell him?”

Sehun huffs, but he translates anyway. _I don’t see why, but apparently Yixing likes you_ , he hisses to Vivi.

 _Of course he does_ , Vivi answers primly. _Everybody likes me._

“What did he say?” Yixing asks. 

“Thank you,” Sehun says flatly. “He said thank you.”

Yixing beams, cooing at Vivi, and Sehun has to tamp down on the groan threatening to break from his throat. He’s a sixth-year, for Merlin’s sake. He’s the heralded seeker of the Slytherin quidditch team. Yixing shouldn’t be making him feel like a giddy first-year on a wobbly broom. 

_And yet, here we are_ , Vivi taunts. _You got it bad, my boy._

“Shut up,” Sehun accidentally spits out in normal speech, causing Yixing to startle. “Not you,” he hurries to clarify at Yixing’s bewildered look, ignoring the way Vivi coils up, hacking in laughter. 

_Shoo_ , he orders Vivi. _Stop hogging him._

 _Fine_ , Vivi retorts, butting Sehun’s knee with his head crossly. He slithers away gracefully, all the while cursing him, his children, and his children’s children. 

“You’ve got an interesting relationship with your snake,” Yixing observes, amused. 

“Well, at least he puts up with me.”

Yixing’s smile slips away. Sehun shrugs, awkwardly. It’s no secret that people leave him alone. He’s got his team, sure. He hangs with some of the others. But they hold him at arm’s length. _A Parselmouth_ , they whisper, some in awe, some in disgust. _His blood runs in his veins._

There isn’t any question as to who they’re referring to.

“I think,” Yixing begins, “that what you have is brilliant.”

Sehun blinks. Yixing’s been an exception from day one, from when he had waited for two hours outside the Slytherin dungeon holding Vivi as gently and as carefully as he knew how. 

“Is this your pet?” Yixing had asked, when Sehun finally appeared. “I found him in the prefect’s toilet.”

 _Vivi! I told you not to nap there!_ Sehun exclaimed in Parseltongue, and then flinched when he remembered that he was in front of a fellow student. But instead of recoiling, Yixing had grinned, curious but accepting. 

“And I think,” Yixing continues, sounding upset, and snapping Sehun back to the conversation at hand, “that those who think otherwise are, are—”

“Unimportant,” Sehun provides, sparing Yixing from having to use an angry word. “They’re unimportant.”

Yixing nods. “Yes.”

“Unlike you.”

Yixing nods again. “Yes, wait, what?”

From behind a rather harmless looking shrub where he’s been eavesdropping the entire time, Vivi hisses out a condescending, _Niccceee._

Yixing hears, of course. “What did he say this time?”

 _Come on human_ , Vivi prompts impatiently. _Grow a snake’s tongue._ He means grow some balls; Sehun's aware Vivi hasn't yet quite gotten the hang of some of the finer phrasings of human speech. It's a sad day when even his snake thinks he's got some manning up to do.

But Sehun turns to Yixing, who’s looking at him warmly, maybe a little encouragingly, who’s the only one who has ever bothered to find out what species of snake Vivi even is (copperhead), what he likes to eat (cicadas), where his favourite hideouts are (bathtubs), the only who who's ever sat next to him without caution and distrust, and finds it isn’t very difficult to heed Vivi’s advice. 

“He said that you should go out with me to Hogsmeade this weekend.” 

_Oh my god_ , Vivi gasps, _that’s awful, even for you_ , but Yixing flushes and smiles and mumbles out a shy agreement, and Sehun can’t bring himself to care.


	4. Fragile Strength, D.O/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampires AU.

“ _Ah._ ”

“Sorry, sorry I’m so sorry,” Kyungsoo says frantically. “Did I hurt you?”

Yixing shakes his head kindly. “No, you just surprised me, that’s all.”

Kyungsoo frowns at his hand, still resting on Yixing’s arm. A seemingly harmless gesture, but he had forgotten how terrifyingly strong he became after his transformation. He releases his hold on Yixing, and blanches when he sees bruises already forming. “Please leave me, hyung. I’m dangerous in my current state.”

Yixing ignores his warning and sits next to him. Something flutters in Kyungsoo’s undead chest. He’d thought vampires could no longer feel. 

“When I was first turned, I had problems controlling my gift too.”

Kyungsoo considers Yixing. Amongst them, his powers appear the mildest. But he’s seen how the others respect him as an elder, as a fighter, as one of their guardians. 

“I nearly drained Luhan past an unsalvageable point, by accident. Just with one touch.”

Kyungsoo swallows at Yixing’s pained tone. He wants to touch Yixing, to impart some form of comfort, but he doesn’t dare for fear of hurting him. 

“I locked myself away from others, after that,” Yixing continues, eyes a little hunted. “I decided that I was too much of a risk. But it only got worse. Every living thing around me started wilting. Yifan nearly had to kill me, and he would have never forgiven himself. My isolation did more harm than good. Especially to those I wanted to protect in the first place.” He turns to Kyungsoo then. “Don’t make the same mistake as I did.”

“How should I do this?” he asks, wary and lost. “Everything I touch breaks.”

Yixing holds out his hand. “Not everything.”

“Don’t,” Kyungsoo says sharply. 

“Take my hand.” 

“Hyung,” Kyungsoo implores, desperate. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

Yixing says it earnest and confident, he smiles at Kyungsoo as if he wholly believes in him. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he’s done to inspire such trust, but he wants to be deserving. He reaches forward.

 _Gently_ , he commands his fingers. _Gently now_.

Ever so slowly, he folds his fingers carefully around Yixing’s hand. Yixing’s skin is smooth and soft. It’s been so long since he’s allowed himself touch—to really feel another living thing, another person, that the contact chokes him with emotion. 

“Would you look at that,” Yixing beams at him proudly. Kyungsoo gazes at him through lashes thick with tears, and hesitantly twines their fingers together. “You can.”


	5. Finish Your Sentence, Kai/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU in which the first words your soulmate speaks to you are found on your body.

When his feet ache, when the responsibility of having to be the best, shine the brightest, gets too heavy, when the voice in his head telling him he’s not good enough roars a little too loudly, Jongin traces the words curving right below his left knee. 

_You move like_

It stops there, incomplete and empty. He’s despaired over it more times than he can count; wants to know what his soulmate thinks of his dance, thinks of him. What does he move like, he wonders, watching his chest heave through the mirror. Nights sacrificed stretching every muscle in his body to a point near breakage, what does he move like?

The other trainees whisper behind his back, derisive comments about the way he confines himself to the studio, doesn’t talk to them because he’s all that and more—it’s not true, not really. Jongin’s found that he only has energy and patience for things that matter, and those things don’t include them. 

Most times he ends up alone at 3am in the morning, taking the last bus back to the dorm. 

Then this boy, this floppy haired, lost, sleepy-eyed boy, who moves as if he controls the very air in the room, constricting the lungs of all who watch him, this boy, has the nerve to turn up one day when Jongin’s glaring at himself in the mirror, hair matted with sweat, discontent and doubt bubbling within him, and say:

“You move like—”

“Finish your sentence,” Jongin nearly snaps, desperate.

The boy blinks, stares at him, hand unconsciously wandering to his neck, before a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“dú yī wú èr.” And then, shyly, “Sorry, my Korean’s not very good.” 

“What does that mean?”

The boy frowns, brows furrowed, as he tries to find the right words. “Unlike any other,” he says, finally. “You move like no other.” 

Thank you, he wants to say, for already he feels a sense of balance that was missing, a comforting weight settling in the center of his core anchoring him to the ground. The boy moves toward him tentatively, bowing repeatedly, and extends a hand forward. Jongin grasps it, pulls, and laughs when the boy yelps as he falls into his embrace. 

He follows the dip of words imprinted on the side of Yixing’s neck with his thumb, smiling lopsidedly when Yixing squirms and embarrassedly admits to being far too sensitive there. 

_Finish your sentence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. dú yī wú èr; 独一无二; unique, one of a kind.  
> 2\. For alexa31.


	6. Jealous, Chen/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythology/Gods & Goddesses AU.

In all honesty, he’s forgotten the reason for their fight. It’s over something trivial, that he knows—the land perhaps. Yixing had wanted more rain for the people. For their crops, for their livestock. Jongdae had refused. 

Now they stand facing each other, the very air around them shifting to accommodate their fury. The skies crack with lightning that Jongdae gathers and funnels down. Yixing resists, stalwart, shrouding himself in defensive energy and stepping through his attacks untouched. But the earth creaks and groans under Jongdae’s assault; the people will have to redraw their maps. 

“Enough,” Yixing bites out coldly. “The land can’t take much more.”

“Your precious humans,” Jongdae hisses, with all intention to wound. Yixing’s stubbornness infuriates him. He is Zeus, king of the gods, and no less. That Yixing would even think to defy him, and for such insignificant beings, boils his blood. “They’re all you care for.”

Yixing flinches, and finally, his impassive mask slips. “Jongdae, is that what—”

But Jongdae gives him no time to respond. He breathes deep, silencing the chaos in his mind and shaping it into a singular intent, and calls down the dragon of heaven. She is _Thunder_ to the gods, _Judgement_ to the people. Blinding white and blue, crackling with power, she coils like a serpent ready to strike at her Master’s command. Perhaps she is enough to make Yixing understand.

(Even gods are jealous with their affections.) 

Jongdae pauses, disregarding the way Yixing’s eyes widen in fear, hurt, and sends her forth with a flick of his hand. The dragon hurtles toward the healer, the god of the people, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Yixing squares his shoulders, a mixture of resignation and defiance in his stance. 

But at the last moment, the light surrounding Yixing dissipates. Jongdae frowns in confusion, then in horror as he realizes that Yixing had stripped himself of the protective cloak he wore. He faces Jongdae’s wrath, defenseless.

His feet fly over the earth as he fights his way to Yixing. The healer is alive but broken; lying in a crater in the ground, his skin singed from the dragon’s unforgiving might, his breath coming out in short, pained gasps. Jongdae scrabbles close, desperation and regret and shame all struggling for space in his chest. 

“Why,” he chokes out, cradling Yixing. “ _Why?_ ”

“So that you would _understand_.” With effort, Yixing reaches forward shakily to wrap his hands around Jongdae’s wrists. 

Jongdae stiffens. The gods know that Yixing hides behind a deceptively gentle exterior, that one touch is enough to drain his enemies beyond redemption. For a moment, Jongdae thinks that it’s been all a trick, that Yixing had fallen to put him in this position, and that he was going to destroy Jongdae at last—but all Jongdae feels is a tender stirring in his palms.

“You always fry your nerve endings when you play with lightning,” Yixing admonishes weakly. Jongdae stares with disbelief, as Yixing uses the remnants of his energy to heal the slight burns on his hands. 

Jongdae’s cries soak the earth with rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. And then they communicate (yay) and make up and live happily ever after in Mount Olympus or something.


	7. Here, Real, Tao/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacific Rim AU.

They hadn’t gotten along, in the beginning. They didn’t seem to understand how to act around each other. Yixing was always too quiet; anyone who got to know Tao after a day would sum him up as emphatic. They vied for top spots in every class in the program. Situational analysis, aerobatics, hand-to-hand combat—Tao couldn’t describe the vicious satisfaction coursing through him when he flung Yixing down on the mat, securing the round as his. But Yixing would only blink impassively and return to his position without a hint of acknowledgement. It made him seethe. 

“This is ridiculous,” Tao argued, and for once, Yixing appeared to agree. 

Kris shrugged. “The two of you are drift compatible. It’s obvious to anyone watching.”

“I can’t pilot with him,” Tao grit out.

“Learn to,” Kris ordered, and that was that.

 

The first time they had entered the Jaeger together had been a disaster. The link felt invasive, foreign. Tao shuddered as he was hit with a barrage of images, flashes of a city in ruins, the resulting tsunami from a Kaiju attack, Yixing screaming as he ran through the wreckage barefoot, ignoring his bloody feet as he searched frantically for his family. 

“Fuck,” Tao muttered as the Jaeger’s plasma cannon was activated. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —”

“Disengage, pilot,” Control came in, clipped. “ _Now._ ”

“I can’t,” Tao offered flatly. “Shut up one moment.” He focussed on the scene unfolding before him, pushing past the carnage in search of a boy. And there he was, crouched outside a collapsed building, sobbing and clawing at the rubble. 

Tao approached carefully. “Yixing. Listen to me.”

The boy looked up. He couldn’t have been older than nine. 

“This isn’t real. It’s a memory.”

“They’re there,” the boy pointed at the building. “They’re there.”

“They’re not,” Tao insisted firmly, wincing when Yixing flinched. “This isn’t real,” he amended, softer. “Come on, come back to me, alright? I’m real. I’m here.”

Yixing took a hesitant step toward him. 

“Come on,” Tao coaxed again. “Come on.”

 

That night Tao had gone up to Yixing’s room, a tray of food in hand. His knocks went unanswered, and he debated leaving the tray outside. But images of a tear-streaked boy pushed him to enter. Yixing was curled up in the bed, and Tao could hear his laboured breaths.

He had nudged Yixing over, and got into bed alongside him. Wrapped both arms around Yixing’s trembling shoulders and whispered, “I’m real. I’m here.”

 

A month later, _Dancing Wolf_ was cleared for active duty. Two months later, her Kaiju kill count rose to twenty-seven. Two years later, and the Eastern Pacific wall remained unbreachable under her watch. Three years later, she encountered _Yu Long_. 

 

They christen her the jade dragon because of her impenetrable hide. Tao and Yixing direct _Dancing Wolf_ through three full rounds of ammunition, but it doesn’t matter how accurate their shots are if none of them can pierce her armour. _Yu Long_ steps through their barrage untouched, considering them with only a vague sense of irritation. 

_I’m tiring of this shit_ , Yixing communicates, frustrated. 

Tao can’t help but agree. The dragon whips her tail down, and they twist out of the way. Their reactor core has three minutes before it switches to the emergency fuel generator, which has at maximum, seven minutes and twenty seconds worth of power. 

_So I’m thinking, knife?_

_Plasma cannons don’t work and you go with a knife?_

_Hey_ , Tao sulks, _I don’t see you contributing any better ideas._

Through their link, he senses Yixing’s amusement. _Knife it is._

Eleven metres of reinforced carbon steel feels inadequate in the face of the monster baring her teeth at them, but it’s all they have. _Dancing Wolf_ leaps out of the way of another attack, and charges. She swings the knife upwards, pulls back for a jab, then forward, shifts the knife to her left arm, strikes, ducks low, pushes forward again. Tao and Yixing move her in perfect unison, and she dances to their tune. 

_Yu Long_ pulls back, defensive, her long tail coiling around her middle. 

_There_ , Tao crows, triumphant. _She’s protecting her core._

 _Let’s go, baby._

Feint right, move left, duck, aim, drive forward. _Yu Long_ knows where their gunning for, and her tail whips out to wrap around their mechanical arm, halting them. But Yixing pulls out a plasma cannon, and blasts one right in her face.

They don’t work, but they’re a good distraction.

 _Yu Long_ ’s tail loosens, and Tao sees the opening they’ve been waiting for. The dragon’s soft, meaty core lies under a thin film of scales. It’s vulnerable. He plunges the knife forward, watching it sink through the hide and disappear into flesh. _Yu Long_ roars and thrashes, but _Dancing Wolf_ holds her down. The Kaiju weakens, as metallic blue liquid spurts out of the core. They have her. 

But in a final act of defiance, _Yu Long_ ’s claws shoot forth. 

She rips through _Dancing Wolf_ ’s left arm, tearing a hole in her side. And then her tail lashes in, smashing the inside machinery. Tao is slow to react, uncomprehending. But he turns to Yixing just in time to see the pilot step in front of him, and shield him from a chunk of falling metal. 

He screams as their neural link snaps.

 

“You asshole,” are Tao’s first words when Yixing opens his eyes. “You utter piece of shit.”

“That’s nice,” Yixing says placidly. “It’s good to see you too.”

His shoulders shake as he crumbles, tears leaking from his eyes. “Ge,” he chokes out. “Ge, I was so scared, you wouldn’t move, I thought you—”

“Hey,” Yixing says, his hand twitching. Tao knows it’s all his body can do right now. The doctors aren’t sure if he can step into a Jaeger again. _I won’t pilot without him_ , Tao had yelled, when they suggested he consider looking for a new co-pilot. _I can’t._

Tao reaches for Yixing, gripping him tight. “You were gone,” he whispers.

“I’m here,” Yixing smiles weakly. “I’m real.”

Tao breathes slow, in and out, through his nose. Yixing’s hand is warm in his. “Yeah?”

“I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. _Dancing Wolf_ lol it was all I could come up with.  
>  2\. yù lóng; 玉龙; jade dragon


	8. Bound-Free Transition, Chen/Lay

There’s a startled _oh_ , and then the boy drops the ornament, scrambling backwards. Jongdae scowls when he’s dragged down by an unseen force and crashes onto the floor along with it.

“Watch it, human,” he hisses, “I can literally turn you into a toad.”

The boy whimpers, cowering behind something—a chair, that’s it. He’s learnt to recognize these things. 

“Alright, name it.” The boy doesn’t answer; he’s too busy shaking all over. Jongdae sighs. Maybe being nasty wasn’t the best thing to do. “Look,” he says flatly, then clears his throat and continues in a more placating manner, “can we just get this over with?”

“What?” the boy whispers.

“Oh, it speaks!” Jongdae crows sarcastically, eliciting a flinch. “Jongdae, at your service,” and he actually manages not to look entirely put out by that fact. “I’m a genie, isn’t that what you guys call me?”

The boy stares at him, petrified.

“I grant wishes. Well—wish, rather. We got stingier over the centuries. You get just one.”

There’s a pregnant pause. And finally, _finally_ , the boy ventures out of his hiding place. He moves closer, warily. “You’re a genie?” he asks apprehensively.

“Yes.”

“I get a wish.”

“Yes, I believe I’ve mentioned that already,” Jongdae says impatiently. “So if you just tell me what it is, and we can both be along our merry way—”

“I wish you’d be free.”

Jongdae blinks, stunned, unsure if he’d heard right. But then all of a sudden, something excruciating claws at him, almost as if it were severing a part of his being away. He’s screaming, he’s sure of it, he doesn’t know what else to do, but then there are arms around him, solid and warm and— 

_What?_

He can’t remember the last time he'd managed to feel anything. When did it happen? When he was bound and unceremoniously stuffed into a rusty looking trinket, forced to serve whoever so much as rubbed it. How long ago was that? Jongdae feels the curse peeling away from him, a most unpleasant sensation; almost as if somebody were pulling out little hooks embedded in his skin in a deliberately careless way. But there are hands brushing fervently at his cheeks, and somehow, focusing on those gentle touches makes the agony stabbing through his entire form almost bearable.

And then it ends.

His prison, for the last thousand years, thunks dully across the wooden floor. It's useless now. Vision blurry, his hearing returns to him first, and it’s just a litany of— 

“Sorry, sorry, _sorry_ , I’m so sorry, I thought that asking for your freedom was what you wanted, was I wrong? Sorry, I didn’t know it’d cause you pain, sorry—"

And Jongdae blindly reaches out, shuts the idiot up by covering his mouth with his. 

_Oh._

Taste. He can taste. The boy tastes of tea. Honey. Of kindness and love and things he hadn’t been allowed to have for so, so long. Something wet slips down his cheeks.

“Oh dear,” and now the boy sounds close to tears himself. “I’ve made you cry. What do I do?”

Jongdae ignores the fretting, and fists his hands in the lapels of the boy’s shirt. Oh, the things surging in his now beating heart, put there by this unsuspecting idiot of a human. “You,” Jongdae gasps out, throat raw. “What are you?”

The boy tilts his head, confused. “What?”

“What kind of human does that? You only had one wish!”

“Do you not want to be free?”

“I do!” Jongdae growls, frustrated. “But you only had one!”

“Well,” and the boy smiles hesitantly, “then I had to make it a good one, right?”

“Explain yourself,” Jongdae demands, nonplussed.

“I wasn’t thinking about wishes when I bought this decoration,” he laughs, a little shyly. “Just that it’d look nice on top of my piano. I didn’t expect you to come out! I don’t really need anything. I teach dance classes, that gets me by. I'm happy. I get to work on my music, and I’m actually getting pretty close to a deal.”

“Why didn’t you wish for fame?”

“That’d be cheating,” the boy replies promptly.

Jongdae’s mouth slams shut. Open. Then shut again. There really isn’t anything to say to that, except, wow, humans like you exist? The boy’s still hovering above him uncertainly, worrying his lip. 

Jongdae looks at him, and makes his decision. 

“Your name?”

“What? Oh, it’s Yixing.”

“Yixing.” Jongdae takes a deep breath. “Yixing, would you allow me to serve you?”

Yixing’s face scrunches up in confusion, then in horror. “Wait, why would you ask me that? You just got free! Why would you want to bind yourself back to me?”

“Just say yes,” Jongdae grits out, annoyed. “Stop pretending you know what I want.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want to stay with you. I can choose, you know. If I want to serve a master for life, I can choose to do so.”

“But—” 

“I have nowhere else to go. I don’t know this world anymore. I’ve been granted a second chance, but at what? I don’t know.” He can hear his voice cracking as he speaks. Where does he even begin? What does he do now? Who does he live for?

“Okay,” Yixing soothes, “please don’t cry again.”

“Say yes, Yixing.”

_Say yes, you idiot human, please say yes. Please._

Yixing thinks, brows furrowed, and Jongdae’s heart leaps painfully in his chest. “Only if you’re still free,” he begins slowly, “in every other sense of that word. If you get to do as you please. If you’re still able to leave.”

“Alright,” Jongdae says, even though he doesn’t think that’d ever happen. There really isn’t much to consider, here. And after this he’s going to teach Yixing a thing or two about making better deals for himself. 

“Then… you can stay.”

Jongdae nods, but it isn’t enough; he knows what he must do to seal the bargain. 

“My name. It’s Jongdae.” His throat closes the moment he says it however; the last person who knew this flung him into a cage and left him for dead. Even so, he feels new threads winding into his being, inscribing the contract into his skin. It doesn’t hurt, though. Not like last time. “Will you keep it safe?”

“Yes,” Yixing says, and it sounds like a promise, somehow. Jongdae relaxes in Yixing’s arms. The chaos in his mind is abruptly silenced. Something warm, and soft, blankets him. It feels very much like peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. An atomic process lolll.


	9. Mercy, Sehun/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladiator AU.

His opponent’s reach outmatches his, and Yixing finds himself on the defensive more often than not. At first glance, the other gladiator’s movements are jerky, almost unsure, but Yixing has learnt from the cuts grazing him that all that plays into his unique, disarming style. He pauses, switches the grip of his dagger, feints left, strikes right—it toys with Yixing’s rhythm, and puts him at a heavy disadvantage.

Bleeding and running low on stamina, Yixing’s past tactics at this point. From past experience, he knows charging along with just brute force is akin to a death sentence; he was young when he tried to do so once, against a broad-shouldered, stout murmillo whose skills clearly surpassed his, and it had led to him lying trodden in the dust with none of his weapons to protect him. The crowd had been kind, that day, but Yixing had never forgotten his lesson. His opponent today is of a slighter build, however, and Yixing can use his weight and momentum against him. 

Yixing holds his gladius out, as if poising to attack, and then—drops it.

His opponent’s eyes follow the sword’s descent, the crowd murmurs its confusion; after all, which gladiator leaves himself defenseless? But the minute distraction is enough for Yixing to barrel forth, with all his weight behind his shield, and crash into the unsuspecting man before him. 

The momentum sends them both tumbling into the ground; the crowd roars, sensing blood, his opponent’s trapped under the shield, with no leverage to throw Yixing off, Yixing whips out the little dagger he keeps in his belt, and— 

Oh, he’s _young_.

The fall had dislodged his opponent’s helmet, and Yixing’s staring into the eyes of the man he’s about to kill—he looks calm, accepting of his fate, as a noble gladiator ought—and something about that makes Yixing’s gut roil. 

“Go on,” he says to Yixing, and it’s strange, being able to hear him above the din of the crowd. “If it’s you, it’s fine.”

“If it’s…” Yixing repeats dumbly. “What do you mean?”

The man shakes his head, falling silent, and at this point Yixing knows what he should do, but even though he’s performed the deed numerous times before, a part of him _aches_ unfathomably. 

“I refuse,” Yixing says, ignoring the bewildered look he receives. He sheathes his dagger and looks to the crowd. _Mercy_ , he wills them to give. _The boy fought well._

The crowd appears to agree. Handkerchiefs flutter out, signalling the call for the fallen gladiator to live. The editor of the match acknowledges the crowd’s decision, and Yixing thrusts out a hand for the man to take, pulls him to his feet. 

 

“What did you mean, if it’s you?”

“By Julius, you’re persistent,” Sehun grumbles.

They had met at the banquet following the games. Yixing spotted the young man nursing his shoulder—probably dislocated, from their earlier fight—and had insisted on fussing over him during the meal, grabbing breads and cheeses for him and refilling his cup the instance it dipped below half. Sehun scowled and sulked but allowed it, so Yixing has a feeling he doesn’t really mind. 

“Well?” he presses.

“I’ve looked up to you for a time, alright?” Sehun finally caves, face a bright red. From the wine or the admission, Yixing can’t tell. 

“Oh,” Yixing says, pleased.

Sehun scoffs, mumbling something rude under his breath, but he remains pressed against Yixing’s side the entire night. 

 

They train together after that, in common arenas with wooden sticks serving as swords, and Yixing finds, delighted, that Sehun is gifted beyond what he imagined. He’s skilled with his weapon, has a keen sense of awareness, and is clever with his movements. What Yixing has in experience he teaches Sehun, tricks he picked up in his previous matches, even tips on how to sway a crowd in his favour. 

Sehun scowls—his favourite expression, Yixing has surmised—and claims he has no patience for theatrics. To which Yixing firmly informs him that theatrics are what saved his life on occasion. 

Sometimes Sehun cheats his way out of practice, pulls a pout that Caesar knows Yixing is helpless against, and drags them out to visit the gardens or markets. At times like these, Yixing allows himself to imagine a life without the brand of a gladiator, a life in which his most magnificent moment doesn’t necessarily spell his death.

At Sehun’s next match, Yixing clutches a rosary he’s long abandoned, and kneels in the darkness of his room praying, begging, for the man’s survival. He can’t bear to watch, or to even be near enough to hear the crowd, because Yixing’s learned to distinguish between a gracious audience and an unforgiving one. He only unclasps his stiff, aching hands when Sehun stumbles in, bloodied and battle-weary but alive.

 

They’re sparring again today, wooden sticks clacking loudly in the humid enclosure, when suddenly, Sehun twists, dances past Yixing’s defences and sends him to his knees. It’s a strike that would have been lethal, had it been a real fight. 

Yixing beams up at Sehun, but Sehun looks— _horrified_.

He drops the practice sword and flees the arena, ignoring Yixing’s worried calls. 

 

“I can’t,” Sehun sobs into his shoulder that night. “This—I can’t.”

Yixing runs his fingers through Sehun’s soft hair. They’re squeezed together in Sehun’s narrow pallet, where Yixing found him following his absence from supper. “If it’s you,” he starts.

“Don’t,” Sehun snaps sharply. “Don’t say that.”

Yixing huffs, fond. “Brat. Why is it only you that’s allowed?”

Sehun dissolves into tears again, and Yixing wraps him close. They may face each other again. Of course it’s occurred to him. And pushing past his own reservations, he had opted to train the boy. Because— 

“If it’s you,” Yixing repeats, only when Sehun’s asleep, “it’s fine.”


	10. Away Game, Kai/Lay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football AU.

The transfer doesn’t come as a surprise, but it still feels like a brick flung in his face. In truth, he gets it. He knows why Yixing’s leaving. But it doesn’t hurt any less. 

Jongin doesn’t know how to confront Yixing about it. “At least we have him till the end of the season,” Minseok mentions quietly when they’re stretching before practice, and that’s the closest anyone’s come to talking about it.

It boils over in a friendly match against a rival club. The game’s going according to plan, they’ve got a good rhythm and they’re passing well. Yixing’s out in the left, dribbling with the same precision and ease that had caught the attention of so many other clubs. Jongin’s being tailed, but he can lose his guy; that he knows—and Yixing knows as well— 

Yixing sends the ball to an empty space, right where Jongin’s predicted he would. He reaches the ball easily, weaves past the last defender and scores. Yixing beams, running up to him before faltering, remembering the tension between them. Their celebration is muted, even more so because Jongin’s head is reeling. They read each other so easily. They’re a team, the two of them, and Jongin tries and tries to imagine playing without Yixing at his flank and draws a blank. 

“Don’t leave,” he almost whispers in the locker room, when everyone else has cleared out. 

“We’re talking about this now, huh?” Yixing mutters, and Jongin admits, yes, he deserves that. He gave Yixing the cold shoulder for weeks, brushing past him in practice and responding to his greetings with curt replies fully intended to wound. 

“Don’t leave,” he repeats dumbly, because it’s all he can say right now. 

“You know I have to,” Yixing says, gentler this time. “I can’t—with Taeyong here now, you guys have the midfield covered, I can’t play anymore, not how I used to. I don’t have a place here.”

“Taeyong worships you,” Jongin tries, grasping at straws. Anything, to make Yixing stay. 

Yixing huffs a small laugh. “He does you, too.”

“Minseok hyung coddles you like nobody else, Taozi’s sarcastic to everyone but you, our massage therapist has the most gigantic crush on you—”

“Baekhyun does?” Yixing sounds surprised.

Jongin rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re the only one who doesn’t know.”

“I see,” Yixing nods sagely. 

“And I don’t trust Sehun, from that team. I mean, you’ve seen the looks he gives you on pitch, those puppy eyes, he thinks that works—”

“Jongin,” Yixing interrupts, amused. “I can look after myself. I think I’ll be fine.”

“I won’t be,” he says. The words sting as they leave his mouth, but he knows them to be true, down to the marrow of his bones. Yixing doesn’t just hold his world steady on the field, but off it as well; he is rock and shelter, heart and home. 

Yixing steps closer, reaches out for him desperately. “I’m leaving the club. I’m not leaving you.”

Jongin doesn’t see the difference.

A sigh. “Come on.” Yixing tips his head and leaves the locker room. The lights in the stadium are already out, but Yixing grabs a ball from the edge of pitch and wanders forward.

“You want to play? Now?” 

“When was the last time we did this together, just the two of us? Come on.”

Jongin huffs but he follows Yixing, he always does. All Yixing has to do is ask. They face each other on the pitch. This is how he will see Yixing from now on. Against him, not beside.

“ _Come on_ ,” Yixing says again. 

Jongin moves, Yixing anticipates, stealing the ball and zooming off—“And it’s Yixing on the offense now,” he narrates, “the midfielder of the century, Jongin has no chance, no chance at all, look at him waddling behind— 

Jongin snorts, the streak of competitiveness in him showing its teeth, and adds a burst of speed to hook the ball away from Yixing’s feet— 

It’s too dark, and they end up tripping over each other and landing in a pile on the pitch, but Jongin is laughing for the first time in weeks. 

“Foul,” Yixing exclaims, voice threaded with mirth. “Look at this nasty diver, card him for it, I say, give him a red—”

He elbows Yixing in the ribs, and they break into laughter again. Jongin’s chest expands with every gasping breath he takes. The night air is cold and crisp, Yixing is warm against him. 

“See? It doesn’t have to hurt,” Yixing says softly, but Jongin thinks he sounds unsure himself. “Facing me doesn’t have to hurt.” 

It already does. But it’s quiet around them, and Jongin lies still with the feel of soft grass on his back and exhales, staring up at the stars to avoid looking at the arch of Yixing’s neck.


End file.
